


every touch brings me closer to loving you

by DenaCeleste



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Dirty Talk, Dom Chris Argent, Humiliation, Humor, Kissing, Light BDSM, Lots of kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rimming, Sass, Seduction, Spanking, Tiny Angst, Versatile Chris Argent, Versatile Stiles Stilinski, erotic humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenaCeleste/pseuds/DenaCeleste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has been Stiles' mentor in various martial arts for the last few years. In that time, Stiles developed a bit of a crush. Strike that, he's head over heels in love. And now Chris knows. It's the end of the world. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	every touch brings me closer to loving you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Twisted_Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/gifts).



> Because Twist wanted Stargent, and I thought I could write a tiny little PWP. Instead, this is what you get. *points*
> 
>  
> 
> **Unless otherwise stated, all works are unbetaed. Please no public concrit. Please keep comments positive. Any private concrit can be directed to my Tumblr ask box.**

“Good! One more!” Chris barked, face glowing with a fierce pride. Stiles fought down a blush and nocked another arrow.

 

He breathed, lined up the shot, and found a quiet place inside of himself. Released. _Thunk._ “Damn it.” He walked over to the target, tugged the arrow free four fucking inches shy of the bullseye, and went back to Chris.

 

“Hey, you’re getting better at this Stiles. Even Allison wasn’t a crack shot her first month learning.” His mouth twisted a little, he blinked quickly, and cleared his throat. “I think that’s enough for tonight though.”

 

“But I’m bored. This helps me focus. If you keep me in this house for much longer, I’m going to go crazy.” Stiles aimed his best puppy eyes at the man.

 

“You have to practice, but you don’t want to overdo. Your injuries are still healing.” Chris set his hands on Stiles shoulders, warm and large and heavy in a way that Stiles’ hands were not, and a whimper escaped. “Stiles?”

 

He shook his head, hunched his shoulders in defence, but that only served to bring Chris’ hands closer to his face. “I-I’m good.”

 

“What is it?” His voice lowered, softened, and Stiles wanted to roll around in that sound. He was so concerned, but Stiles couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It wouldn’t work, and he didn’t want to lose one of the only--

 

“Breathe! Stiles, c’mon, breathe, nice and slow.” Trapped in that bright blue gaze, he could feel his heartbeat in his fingers. His arms tingled, his chest ached, breathing would be so good about now.

 

Chris pulled him close, smacked a hand on his back once, twice, and Stiles gasped. The dancing grey dots faded from his vision as he panted, and he leaned his forehead against the warm chest in front of him.

 

“What was that?” Hot breath whispered across his ear, and a shiver wracked him. There was no way to hide it from Chris, the way he’d somehow hidden all of the others. Every hand-to-hand lesson, firearms training, though he was at least impressive with guns. His bat, guns, he could use those without much issue.

 

But he wanted more weapons at his disposal. He wanted to learn every advantage that would lead to his and his Dad’s survival. Between Chris and Deaton, he’d already learned a lot. Of course, Deaton wasn’t nearly as distracting as Chris.

 

He swallowed hard and backed away. “Nothing, really, dude. Doing fine. Just. It’s been a rough month. After Dad got shot, and then the last _three_ supernatural baddies. I’m tired.” He laughed, awkwardly enough to make himself wince, and Chris didn’t look like he was buying it.

 

“I thought we agreed to truthfulness between us. That as the humans of this pack, we had to keep the lines of communication open.” Chris’ mouth firmed, and he didn’t let Stiles move more than a couple inches away, until their bodies hovered close enough to turn the air between them hot.

 

That mouth, the hard line of it when Chris took charge, how it softened when he was happy or proud. How would it feel, Stiles wondered, to press his mouth right there? Just soft, gentle.

 

He tore his eyes away, met Chris’ gaze. Saw shock, astonishment. Pity? Stiles didn’t know, but he didn’t want to guess. “I’ve gotta go. Chris, I’ll, um, I’ll see you later. Gotta go visit Dad anyway.”

 

“But Stiles, you’re still recov--”

 

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Hey, hospital right? Best place to be!” Stiles shoved his things back into his bag, zipped it up, and slung it over his good shoulder. “Bye!”

 

He didn’t dare look back, but he could feel that gaze bore into him as he flew up the steps and ran away from his problems. His desires. What he could, realistically, never have.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

 _To listen to your messages, press 1._ Stiles glared at the phone, blew out a hard breath through his nose. He pressed 1.

 

“ _Stiles, you missed our last practice. I’m not sure what’s wrong, but I’d appreciate it if you would call to cancel next time. Or you could tell me what’s going on and we could shoot some targets. Let me know. Call me back._ ”There was a pause, but the message hadn’t ended yet. “ _Please, Stiles._ ”

 

 _To delete this message, press 7. To save, press 9. For more opt--_ Stiles stabbed the 9, then ended the call. He didn’t have any recordings of Chris. Now at least he could moon over the man’s voice like a sad, lovesick fool without anyone the wiser.

 

He was going to have to see Chris eventually. Beacon Hills wasn’t small, and their pack was even smaller. He just. Needed to get a handle on this. It’s a crush, teeny, tiny. He could be unaffected. He worked with Lydia, for gods’ sake.

 

But if Chris touched him one more time, to tousle his hair, to squeeze his shoulder, to adjust his stance...he’d combust.

 

He pressed his thumb to the touch screen again. Listened as it dialed, picked up.

 

_To listen to your messages, press 1._

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

“You know, if you keep avoiding me, I’m going to take it personally.” That droll voice, like velvet over gravel, was unmistakable.

 

“Heeey, Chris. No, I’ve just been busy with college.” He held up the large criminology text. “Homework. Projects. Papers. Fuck ton of papers, to be honest.”

 

One raised eyebrow conveyed his disbelief, and he cocked a hip, feet set shoulder-width apart. He had such long, muscular legs. Stiles yanked his gaze back up to Chris’ eyes, and yeah, he’d noticed.

 

Fuck. The flush worked its way up his neck, into his cheeks, and he bit his lip. “Look, it’s fine. Give me another week, and I’ll be over this...whatever it is. If we could just ignore it until then, that would help.”

 

Chris stared at him, but he wasn’t frowning. Wasn’t laughing. That little light in his gaze could be anything from intrigue to pity, and Stiles knew which one was more likely.

 

He felt like he was free falling, his sensation of his stomach dropping a precursor to the panic that made his fingertips tingle. Time to make his escape. He tossed the rest of his stuff into the passenger seat of the Jeep. “I see from your silence you agree, so. I’ll see you tonight.”

 

“Stiles, you know--” Chris began to walk closer, but Stiles slammed the door shut, started her up, and gave a manic wave, grinning as wide as he could manage without letting any tears fall.

 

He was fine. He’d be fine. He could control this. It didn’t have to change anything.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

“Ouch, mother _fucker_.” Stiles rubbed at his side and glared up at Chris from the floor. “That hurt.”

 

“And it’ll keep hurting until you learn to avoid it.” Chris held a hand out. Stiles stared at it for a minute, then slid his hand across Chris’ to grasp his wrist and get standing again.

 

“Yeah, well, maybe the asp isn’t meant for me,” Stiles muttered and wandered around the border of their sparring ring.

 

“You’re good with a bat, you can be good with an asp. And it’s easier to hide under all those layers than a baseball bat.” Chris eyed him, and Stiles fought the blush that prickled at his cheeks. Not well enough, he guessed, because the smirk that the older man aimed his way just made it worse.

 

“Can we be done for the night?” Stiles whined and aimed a look just beneath those intense blue eyes, but far above that mouth, as desirable in praise as in sarcasm.

 

“I don’t think so, Stiles.” Was his voice lower? And he seemed closer. But not? Was Stiles imagining things?

 

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and asked, “So, what now?”

 

Chris grinned, but it seemed more feral than pleased. “How about we work on some hand-to-hand?”

 

“Which set this time?” Stiles hoped against hope that it would be one with padding. Distance. Any kind of barrier would be nice.

 

“I think five would work.” He nodded and pulled off his shirt, leaving only a thin undershirt to cover his hairy, muscular body.

 

“Dude, you suck. You suck so bad right now,” Stiles groaned and shook out his limbs. He was _not_ undressing any more than he had. At this point, every layer was his saving grace.

 

“Typically I suck well. At least, that was the consensus last I checked.” Chris chuckled, and while Stiles stood there gaping like a fish, the man attacked.

 

Move after move, a flurry of punches here, a kick or three there, but not just that. Fingertips that grazed his throat, the inside of a thigh pressed to his, a dance of fighting and seduction that even Stiles couldn’t deny.

 

“Okay, time-the-fuck-out!” Stiles held his hands in a T. “What is this?”

 

Chris tilted his head, let out a thoughtful hum. “This is me, making my interest known. Or wasn’t that clear?”

 

Stiles flailed, shook his head. Did he hear that right? “I’m sorry, what?”

 

“I guess it wasn’t. I’m just not much of a talker, Stiles. More of a doer.” He circled around while Stiles kept back, and though a good portion of him wanted to pounce, another part of him felt very much like prey. It was not the most comforting feeling to have, even if Chris wasn’t a werewolf.

 

Chris didn’t have to be a supernatural creature to inspire fear.

 

“I thought maybe we’d talk before you started feeling me up? Not that--I mean, that’s all good, but I like to know these things ahead of time.” He rubbed a hand over his face and grimaced. “You know, if it was just about you, and your body--you have a fucking awesome body, you know--then I probably would’ve fallen to the ground and lost ‘accidentally’.” He did finger quotes with the last word.

 

“Oh really? So what is this about then?” The gleam in Chris’ gaze probably meant something, but Stiles’ heart still raced in his chest and he felt somewhat faint.

 

“This is. I have. Um. There might be.” His teeth clicked together and he hissed. “Shit. Feelings? Okay?”

 

“And you assumed that I wouldn’t be interested in knowing about this? Or interested in returning your feelings?” Chris folded his arms over his chest, and oh gods, those pecs. Stiles tried not to drool, tried to focus on what really mattered.

 

“I’m sure a lot of people fall for the--their mentors, teachers, whatever. Those feelings are rarely returned.” Stiles pulled at his hair. “Which, I’m guessing, you might. Then again, you could just wanna get laid, which I have nothing against. But I feel things pretty deeply dude, and I can’t just. Be disposable.”

 

“You’ve fallen for me?” Chris sounded incredulous, which, rude.

 

“That’s what you got from that?” Stiles rubbed at his sternum, just above his heart. It felt bruised. “Okay, I’m gonna go. I think practices should be cancelled for the foreseeable future. At least, until we figure out what we both want, and can have.”

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

Stiles was a masochist. He glared at the blinking phone.

 

 _5 missed calls from C.Argent_. _7 unread messages from C.Argent._

 

Of course he wasn’t going to let this go. Since when had that man ever let go of anything without a tremendous fight? And Stiles wasn’t just some random kid with a crush, but Chris’ student.

 

“Stiles! Pizza’s here!” his dad called up the stairs. He clambered down, and in the mood he was in, didn’t even reprimand his father for the sausage on the pie.

 

“Okay, what’s going on?” John slung an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and snagged a second piece of pizza. “You’re way too quiet lately. I tried to keep out of it, you’re a grown man, but you’re still my kid.”

 

“I just. I’m dealing with some things. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He aimed a wane smile at his dad, but the man wasn’t buying it if the way he shook his head was any indication.

 

“Does this have anything to do with Chris Argent?”

 

Stiles froze, but John just kept powering through another piece of pizza. “Wh-why would you ask me that?” He laughed weakly.

 

“Well, I know he’s been training you. I know you’ve missed some sessions. He asked me if you were okay the other day.”

 

“He stopped by here?!”

  
“He was dropping off some wolfsbane bullets for me to hand out at the station. Since I’m stuck on paperwork for the next few weeks.” John shook his head. “I can’t believe a damn gas station robbery is what got me, with all the other stuff in this town.”

 

Stiles shoved half a piece of pizza into his mouth and shrugged. John gave him a _look_ and said, “That’s not getting you out of talking about this.”

 

He swallowed hard, the large amount of food sticking halfway down, and Stiles felt that was appropriate, given the knot of fear already in his belly. “You have to promise not to freak out.”

 

His dad rolled his eyes. “I haven’t freaked out over werewolves, hunters, and banshees.”

 

“Hey, there’s only one banshee,” Stiles reminded him, then sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’minlovewithmymentorokay?”

 

“Want to run that by me at about half the speed?” Lips quirked in a smile, John waited him out.

 

Stiles took a deep breath. And then another. And threaded his fingers together to get the feeling back in them because saying it out loud -- _to his dad no less_ \-- had him on the edge of panic.

 

“I. Am. In. Love. With. My. Mentor.” He spaced the words carefully, like he was balancing on delicate glass and any misstep might send him crashing through and sliced to shreds.

 

“Oh.” The sheriff blinked, tilted his head to the side, and examined his son. “You okay?”

 

Stiles choked out some desperate laughter. “Okay? Not in this universe. Why aren’t you freaking out?”

 

“Well, you did make me promise not to,” John pointed out, “but also a lot of things make more sense now.”

 

“What things could possibly make sense after that? Things feel like they make a lot less sense now.”

 

“He’s been more nervous around me. More polite, but antsy too. Less like my colleague Chris, more like someone trying to earn my approval.” He shrugged. “Stiles, you’re over the age of consent, you can be with whoever you want.”

 

“Yeah, but he’s not the only one who wan--wait, _he_ is what makes sense?” Stiles shook himself. “I thought you meant me.”

 

“Well, you too, but I know what you’re like when you’re into someone. Lydia, Heather, Derek? Ring any bells? Your crushes are a bit legendary, but you take after me, so it’s no surprise.” A soft smile graced his face, the one that only came when he thought about Stiles’ mom.

 

“I’m not sure what to do.” Stiles slumped back into the couch cushions and hoped they would swallow him whole. No, no, not that, if he wished that, it would probably come to pass, and he liked this couch.

 

“Follow your heart. Be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” With that, he ruffled Stiles’ hair and changed the subject.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

_C.Argent_

_> Stiles, we need to talk. Can’t leave things in limbo like this. Didn’t mean to scare you off. _

 

_Stiles_

_> Dude, we’ve got some issues, yes including you coming on so strong. _

 

_C.Argent_

_> I realize that. I would like for us to talk, face-to-face so there aren’t any misunderstandings_

 

_Stiles_

_> Fine. Where? When? _

 

_C.Argent_

_> Wherever you’d be most comfortable. My house, your house, a public place. _

 

_Stiles_

_> We can talk here. Tomorrow morning, like 10ish. I don’t have class, and Dad’s on half days, he’ll get home at 2._

 

_C.Argent_

_> Thanks. See you then._

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

Stiles couldn’t even stomach the thought of breakfast, as tied up in knots as he was over this whole thing. He jumped up when the knock came.

 

“Hey, Chris.” Damn it, did the man have to look fucking edible? Jeans and a T-shirt so thin he could see those pert nipples just--

 

“Stiles!” Chris waved a hand in front of his face and Stiles jerked. “Can I come in?” He looked about two seconds away from bursting into laughter.

 

This wasn’t the way Stiles wanted to start things, but oh well. No use crying over spilt milk. Or distracted twentysomethings who get to have awkward conversations.

 

Chris chose a chair at the dining room table and sat back, his knees spread, his shoulders set, his whole body taking up so much space. Stiles had to blink and look away before he gawked anymore.

 

“Stiles, come sit. We need to talk about this.” When he met that gorgeous blue gaze, Stiles noticed how tired Chris looked.

 

“Yeah, I know we have to talk about it, but I’m not really sure where to start. Dad seems to think you’re interested in his approval, over me, which was new information. Of course, there was you stalking me on the sparring mat. And then there’s what started this whole thing, I guess, which was I didn’t hide my feelings as well as I should’ve, but Dad had just gotten shot and I--”

 

Chris laid his hand over Stiles’ mouth, and when he breathed in all he could smell was Old Spice and gun oil. He trembled, but stopped, and licked his lips when Chris took his hand away, a motion the other man followed with his eyes.

 

“I didn’t lie about being a doer more than a talker. But you also tended to run like the hounds of hell were after you whenever you thought you were being obvious. Which, honestly, was a lot even before John got injured.”

 

“Let’s not bring Jordan into this discussion. I’d rather not have him chasing me anyway.” Stiles’ lips quirked up and Chris barked out a laugh. It always felt so good to make the man smile, after everything else they’d all been through.

 

“Don’t change the subject. I’m a hunter. I might be human, but I am pretty damn observant, Stiles.” He leaned forward, and somehow he’d managed to move the chair without it scraping on the floor. When had he done that? His knees were just a couple inches from Stiles’ and that wasn’t good. For some reason.

 

“Yeah, well, why didn’t you just sit on me and have the discussion?” Stiles muttered. “Might’ve been easier than this.”

 

Chris smirked. “If I sat in your lap, I’m pretty sure we’d have gotten distracted.”

 

Stiles shot up in his seat, eyes locked on Chris’, jaw slack with shock. “Holy fuck.”

 

“Mm, yeah.” The older man took a deep breath, reeled in some of that charisma that radiated from him so naturally. “You said you had feelings, Stiles. What kind of feelings?”

 

“I think--do you really need me to go into detail about this?” Cheeks warm, squirming in his chair, Stiles clenched his fists. The air seemed a little thicker than it had been.

 

“Yes. If it’ll help, I can go first,” Chris offered. He looked willing enough, so Stiles nodded and sucked his own bottom lip between his teeth to gnaw on.

 

Chris cleared his throat. “You said you had feelings. You’re not the only one. I have feelings for you too. They weren’t there at the beginning, of course, but since I started teaching you, and we began to spend so much time together--you’re a good person Stiles. Funny, ruthless, and fucking adorable. Spending time with you was always good. I found myself happy. I want to be with you.”

 

Simple, straightforward, to the point. Just like Chris. His Chris. His Chris who wanted to be his. Stiles let his lip pop out, and felt more than a small flutter in his belly when Chris noticed. He licked his lips a few times, because damn it how was he supposed to talk with a dry mouth?

 

“I’m gonna get some water!” he blurted, and escaped to the kitchen. He stood in front of the open cabinet and stared at the glasses. What was he going to do again?

 

Heat spread against his back, and Chris’ hands came down on either side of him on the counter. “Stiles, are you okay?” he murmured millimeters away from the shell of his ear.

 

Stiles quivered under the almost-touches. He couldn’t quite catch his breath. “Thought we were going to talk.”

 

The rumble of Chris’ laugh tickled at his shoulder blades. He wanted so badly to press back into that warmth, so fucking badly, but it wouldn’t be the smart thing to do. Would it?

 

He swayed, mind and body caught between fear and desire. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end just before hot, dry lips pressed a kiss dead-center. “I think we’ve covered the important topics, don’t you, Stiles?”

 

“R-r-really?”

 

“We want each other. We have feelings for each other. They are definitely reciprocal.” The way his mouth formed that last word, Stiles could imagine how his tongue curved, could imagine that tongue doing other things.

 

The counter dug into his waist when Chris pressed into him, his chin hooked over Stiles’ shoulder, his chest pressed to Stiles’ back. He didn’t bring their lower bodies together, not yet.

 

Yet? Fuck, he did want that. Wanted to feel what it might be like. As it was, he felt sort of cocooned in the other man’s embrace. Safe. Horny as all hell, but safe too.

 

“Do I lie? Am I wrong?” he rumbled, and Stiles bit back a moan.

 

“No, Chris, you’re not wrong.” He turned his head until his lips brushed against the corner of Chris’ mouth.

 

Chris grabbed his hips, turned him the rest of the way, and there he was, spreading Stiles’ legs, pushing between them, and hoisting the lanky man onto the countertop.

 

Their lips were a whisper away, breath mingling, and Stiles lunged forward, unable to stop himself anymore. He’d had so much restraint up until now.

 

A little dry, a little rough, but so sweet, so good. Stiles groaned, opened just a little to pull Chris’ bottom lip into his mouth. To suckle it, nibble at it, and those large, calloused hands tightened at his hips.

 

He was going to have bruises, but Stiles really couldn’t be bothered by that in any way. He thrust his fingers through Chris’ hair, fisted them, tugged at the longer strands towards the top to tilt the older man’s head back so he could nip across his jaw. The stubble tickled and scraped against his tongue, his lips, but he loved it.

 

The sound of Chris gasping for air and letting out breathy little moans was going to be part of Stiles’ spank bank soundtrack because holy fuck.

 

A loud crack when Stiles pulled back, because apparently that was too far and, oh yeah, cabinets. Open cabinets no less. “Oww. Fuck.”

 

Chris laughed and cupped the back of Stiles’ head, rubbing through the fine strands of hair, then down to his nape. “I think that’s our signal to stop now.”

 

Stiles didn’t bother trying to stop the pitiful whine, nor the pout. He didn’t want to stop. Still, this was the kitchen. “I guess this isn’t very sanitary.”

 

“Uh-uh. Not really. Besides, I think I’d like somewhere more comfortable for our first time together.”

 

“Just the first?” Stiles cocked his brow, pursed his lips a little to the side.

 

“Well, I figure the second, third, fourth, and fifth we could get more creative about location and position.” Chris gentled his hands at Stiles’ waist and nuzzled against his cheek before pulling him further from the danger of kitchen cabinetry.

 

“So are you going to come back to practices? With the bow, with sparring?” At the mention of sparring, Stiles squirmed, their legs tangled together where they stood in the corner of the kitchen. He was so hard, so horny, and he could _feel_ Chris, and the idea of wrestling with the man now…

 

The kiss surprised him out of his musings. It was fast, hard, and fiery enough to make him weak at the knees. “You going to get distracted every time I talk?”

 

“Well, you--look at you! I get to touch you now, and you want me to pay attention to words?” Stiles flailed, but that turned into him exploring Chris’ biceps.

 

“Mmm, paying attention to my mouth. What a hardship,” Chris teased, and Stiles squawked at him and lightly cuffed his shoulder.

 

“You don’t want me to pay attention, do you?” Stiles accused, trying not to laugh. Joy bubbled in his chest like champagne, ticklish and thrilling.

 

“Oh, I want you to pay attention to all manner of things. I’ll see you Saturday for some more lessons.” He leaned in for one slow kiss, their mouths clinging together even as Chris pulled away. “And maybe lessons in other things.”

 

“I would walk you to the door, but I’m not sure my legs will hold me up.” Stiles wasn’t lying either, his knees were wobbly after all of this.

 

Chris solved that problem by hoisting him up, hands under the younger man’s thighs, and carrying him to the couch in the living room. He managed to deposit him there, and slink up his body just enough so that Stiles felt everything from chest to groin, but only for a few moments.

 

Because then Chris sauntered towards the front door, calling out, “See you then, Stiles.”

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

“You know,” Stiles bit out through gritted teeth, “I thought that when you invited me over for lessons, we’d be doing more fun stuff.”

 

Chris prowled around him, little whippy cane in hand, and examined his form. “Oh, I’m having a lot of fun. Sexy young man, sweaty and out of breath, muscles quivering. What’s not fun about that?”

 

“The part where stress positions suck ass!” Stiles tightened up his core and settled again. Everything hurt, he sweated bullets, and all he wanted to do was collapse on the floor.

 

But he wouldn’t, not until Chris said he could.

 

“Mmm, be a very good boy for me, and I promise to do that.” Another tap of the cane under one arm to remind him to keep it up and straight, then to the inside of one thigh to keep them spread.

 

Stiles shook and whimpered, more at the praise than the pain of the crouch he was in.

 

Another minute went by, then two, and then Chris wrapped around Stiles’ back, arms curled under Stiles’ shoulders to give him some support. “Good, that was very good. Walk ‘em up now. Your legs should feel like noodles.”

 

“Noodles? Mission accomplished, then.” Stiles sagged back against the man, enjoyed taking in breaths without effort.

 

They moved together, tiny little waves of motion, before Chris let go. A whine from Stiles arrested any further movement.

 

“Stiles?” he asked. “What is it?” This time his voice lowered with something more than concern, though it still sounded so soft.

 

“I--” Stiles shut his mouth, the heated tingle of a blush working its way over his skin.

 

“Come on, Stiles. You can tell me,” Chris whispered, low and sultry and fuck that man and his voice.

 

“I like it when you touch me. Surround me.” He gulps. “Corner me.”

 

“Hmm. You want me to hunt you down?” The arms around him tightened, and his pulse sped up. “Trap you against a flat surface and have my way with you.”

 

“Ye-es, that would be good,” Stiles agreed, breath coming in fast little puffs. Oh, yes, he very much wanted that.

 

“I think I can oblige.” Chris sounded way too innocent, and then he let Stiles go. “After a little more sparring.”

 

Stiles lowered to the ground in a fast, almost-graceful move, and glared up at the older man. “Dude. I don’t think so.”

 

“I guess you don’t want that treat I promised you then. You know, if you were a good boy.” The shape of his lips forming those words made blood rush down to Stiles’ groin.

 

He groaned. “You can’t do that, say stuff like that. How’m I supposed to spar like this?”

 

Chris grinned. “Need a hand?”

 

Stiles covered his burning face and shook his head. “The puns. You keep doing this, I’m going to be convinced you’re a dork in disguise.”

 

One large hand carded through his hair, and he sighed from the pleasurable tingles that radiated downward. “Do you need a break?”

 

“I think going a few weeks without training has had an effect on my stamina.” Stiles groaned. “In the sparring ring, not--not other--I’m just gonna shut up now.”

 

“That sounds like a good idea. I could mention what you could do with your mouth, or mine for that matter, but I’ll refrain.” With a cheerful ruffle of Stiles’ hair, Chris headed for the stairs. “C’mon, you need to hydrate.”

 

“For a variety of reasons, I’m sure. Your restraint astounds me, Chris.” Stiles forced himself up, the muscles in his legs and arms twitching just a little, but strength returning with every passing minute.

 

They met in the kitchen over some glasses of water, and when Stiles eyed the man, Chris shook his head. “No, no more kitchens. I don’t want anything we do sexually starting or ending with a concussion. Clear?”

 

Stiles laughed. “Oh, so clear, but I make no guarantees. I’m kind of a klutz at the best of times.”

 

“You are more graceful than you or anyone else gives you credit for.” He pointed a finger at Stiles. “Don’t forget, I’ve been sparring with you for years now. I know how you move, baby boy.”

 

The very breath in his lungs froze, and he could’ve sworn his heart stopped beating. And then everything came rushing back, and yet he still couldn’t speak.

 

Chris nodded, put his water down, took the now-empty glass from Stiles’ slack hand. “I thought so. Once I knew what to look for, you’re pretty much an open book.”

 

Stiles cleared his throat, then did it again when he still couldn’t find his words. “Um, pretty much only to you.”

 

“Lucky me.” Chris got into Stiles’ space, ghosted a kiss over his cheek, across his mouth, then planted it on the opposite cheek. “Come to bed?”

 

Stiles’ response was appropriately breathless. “No dinner? No movie? I’m shocked, sir, utterly shocked.”

 

Chris’ eyes darkened, his pupils expanding, and his cheeks tinged red. Stiles let the smirk out. “You’re not the only one who’s noticed things.”

 

“Well, it’s definitely more interesting taking a smart lover to bed. Trust me, I know. Do you?” Chris tilted his head, nipped at the hinge of Stiles’ jaw.

 

A shudder worked its way through Stiles, and he moved into Chris, their bodies flush. “Lovers, yes. Smart, sometimes. You? Not yet.”

 

“Let’s remedy that, shall we?” Chris waited for confirmation, and when Stiles grinned and nodded, he scooped him up. “I may not have wined and dined you, but I don’t suppose you’d mind me carrying you to bed?”

 

Stiles wrapped his arms around Chris’ neck, kicked out his feet a little. “By all means, _sir_ , carry on.”

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

It didn’t take long to undress, their sparring clothes loose and light. When rough hands turned him onto his front, Stiles whimpered. “Please, Chris.”

 

“Please what, Stiles?” Loving strokes from his shoulders to the small of his back had him tilting his hips up, legs spread wide around where Chris knelt behind him.

 

“You promised,” Stiles whined, and hitched his hips up more, moaning when Chris kneaded his ass.

 

“I did promise you that I would eat your ass if you were a good boy.” He delivered a light smack to his left butt cheek, and the slight sting radiated in pleasant prickles up his spine.

 

“Oh. Do that again?” Stiles rested his cheek on his folded arms and held his breath until the next smack, and then it was an alternating storm of blows that were like a gentle, electrifying rain.

 

He melted into the bed and his hard dick dripped precum onto the cotton sheets. When Chris spread his cheeks apart, the cool air of the room made him shiver. Bared to the room. To the man.

 

Utterly exposed. His breath came fast, faster, when one thick finger pressed against his hole like a button, and he cursed.

 

“Language, baby boy,” Chris said, and pressed again and again until it pulsed without him touching it, like Stiles wanted that finger in him.

 

Which he did.

 

Scorching wet heat laved across his hole, and Stiles shouted. “Fuck! Fuck! Chris!”

 

He backed into the man, or tried to, but found his hips held in the vice grip of strong hands. Noises left him, some of them even words, but all he wanted was more.

 

That tongue wiggled just past his rim, and fireworks burst behind his eyelids. It circled, around and around, making him dizzy from the bliss, and he bit into his own forearm to keep from screaming.

 

It did nothing to stop the low, constant moan that he couldn’t keep in. He had no control, none at all, and when a finger slid in beside Chris’ tongue, he shivered apart as he came into the sheets, squeezing around the penetration.

 

“Such a good boy, Stiles, so good for me. Coming on my fingers, on my tongue.” Chris murmured such praise, and tears leaked out over Stiles’ face that the older man kissed away as he scooted them to the clean side of the bed.

 

“Want you in me, please, need it,” Stiles whispered between small, butterfly-light kisses. “Need you, Chris.”

 

Chris groaned so low it was almost a growl, and turned Stiles onto his back. He reached for the bedside table, drew out lube and a condom, and readied them both. When his fingers squelched in and out of Stiles’ hole, one finger, then two, then three to be sure, Stiles felt no shame in begging.

 

“Please! Now, now, get in me, get in!” He squirmed, trapped on his back, legs splayed around Chris’ hips, and when the blunt pressure of his hard cock breached Stiles, they both gasped.

 

Stiles squeezed around him, inside and out, crossing his ankles at the small of Chris’ back as the man rocked into him, slow and gentle at first.

 

When he kept up the gentle movements, adjusting his angle in small increments, Stiles jerked when Chris brushed over his prostate. “Fuck! Yes, there, right the--nngg.” He threw his head back, and Chris licked at his neck, the rough stubble on his cheeks a burn that felt so good Stiles wanted it every-fucking-where.

 

Chris trembled in Stiles’ arms, his thrusts coming faster and faster until every forceful snap of his hips elicited a high-pitched squeal from Stiles, his oversensitive dick at half-chub and growing where it rubbed between them.

 

As stretched as he was, he still felt it when Chris’ cock thickened just before he came, the small pulses and jerks into his body sending an extra thrill up Stiles’ spine.

 

When Chris came, he bit down on Stiles’ left pec, right over his heart where it raced against the hunter’s lips, and Stiles hissed, the sharp ache almost too much, almost not enough.

 

They lay together, and Stiles caressed that muscled back, over the crest of each shoulder blade, dipping across his spine.

 

Chris lifted himself, reached down, and grunted as his softened cock slipped out of Stiles. He disposed of the condom in the bedside garbage can, and then ranged over Stiles once again. They looked at each other for the longest time, or what felt like an eternity to Stiles.

 

Chris rubbed their lips together, pulled back, then went in just a little deeper, over and over again, a slow seduction of kisses. Stiles reached for every one of them, each getting wetter, more intense, until Stiles was hard and whimpering.

 

“Fucking damn it.” Stiles’ abs flexed as he rubbed himself between them, and Chris let his weight rest down on him, giving him more friction.

 

“That’s it. I want to watch your face when you come this time, sweet boy.” Locked into place, those brilliant eyes watching his every expression, Stiles was caught between need and shyness.

 

He wanted to hide, and turned his head to the side, but Chris tutted him, “No no no, eyes on me baby, eyes on me.”

 

Stiles made little abbreviated whines of protest, but obeyed, and the butterflies twisting in his stomach only made his orgasm come on faster, the heated flush in his face sent electricity down his spine to rest in his tailbone before everything coalesced down low into a bliss that poured out of him in spurts to smear between them.

 

“That’s it, that’s my good boy,” Chris praised, and Stiles writhed in his arms, hips still moving to draw out every last drop.

 

More kisses dropped onto his face, this time tiny, barely there against his cheeks, his chin, his brow. Everywhere but his mouth.

 

Since it was free, he decided to confess while he had the courage. “I think I’m in love with you.”

 

Chris hummed, and pressed a firm smooch to Stiles’ mouth before looking him in the eye. “I know I’m in love with you. But I’m glad we’re both on the same page now.”

 

Stiles couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face, and he didn’t want to. Joy infused every cell, and suddenly he felt like he was vibrating with it. “Yeah?”

 

Chris laughed, kissed him again. “Yeah. Wanna join me in the shower?”

 

“You bet. But you’re changing the sheets after.” Stiles slanted a look at the relatively small spot he’d made, compared to what they’d done to the rest of the sheets together.

 

“Sounds like a deal, baby. Especially since I know where the sheets are.” Chris wove their fingers together, nuzzled the back of Stiles’ hand, and drew him up to lead him to the master bath.

 

The shower had more cuddling than any shower Stiles had ever taken. He groped at Chris’ ass while the man attempted to wash up, and got himself two handfuls of that really hot ass.

 

When he clenched his hands around that tempting bottom, Chris turned and raised his eyebrow. “Ready for more so soon?” He pushed his butt into Stiles’ grasp, and the younger man gave a small, questioning sound.

 

“You bottom?” Stiles walked his fingers up Chris’ back, away from more tempting zones. Chris had a point, he really wasn’t ready for more yet.

 

“I see no reason to deny myself the pleasure of getting my ass fucked,” Chris admitted, and pulled Stiles under the spray. “Now come on, let’s get cleaned up and then we can eat something.”

 

Stiles laughed as his stomach rumbled, answering for him. “I guess we worked up an appetite.”

 

“You could definitely say that.” Chris nibbled at his shoulder while Stiles scrubbed at the worst of the mess streaked across his belly and groin.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

Stiles was having the best dream. Laid out, relaxed, and his dick in a warm, wet mouth being worked over slow and steady. But every time he got even close to coming, it stopped, and he let out a small whine of complaint.

 

The sound of a low, amused chuckle brought him to wakefulness. “Wha-?” Well, sort of.

 

“I woke up, saw this, and couldn’t resist,” Chris explained from between Stiles’ legs. “I got to eat you out last night, and fuck that hot bubble butt. And it was fucking fantastic. But now I want my ass fucked.”

 

Stiles blinked at him, his brain not really ready to comprehend all of that, but his dick jerking at some of the words. “You want--really? Now?”

 

“Mm-hmm. I even got myself all ready for your cock.” He kissed the tip and had what seemed like a permanent smirk on his face.

 

He slicked Stiles’ cock with some lube before rolling the condom down. Chris crawled up his body in this sexy slink that shouldn’t even be possible, in Stiles’ opinion. When he sat up, Stiles traced the muscles of his abs, straining and flexing as he situated himself.

 

Stiles held his breath, and felt like it got punched out of him as Chris sank onto his dick in a smooth, steady descent. “Holy shit, you’re tight.”

 

Chris grunted, head tilted back and eyes shut. “Been awhile, sweet baby. You’re the first to have my ass in years.”

 

Mouth open, panting for air, Stiles opened and closed his hands, not sure what to do with them. It was like all the blood was in his dick and his brain didn’t want to work. Plus, he just woke up.

 

Chris fixed everything by curling his fingers around the headboard. “Stay. You got it?”

 

“Sir, yes, sir,” Stiles teased, but moaned when Chris tightened around him.

 

“Good boy,” he breathed, “such a good boy, letting me ride you like this. Your cock feels so fucking good inside of me, Stiles. It’s hitting all the right spots.”

 

The hunter rolled his hips and his hard dick smacked against Stiles’ belly. He licked a long stripe of spit into his hand and grabbed himself, long, gorgeous pulls that made him clench around his boy.

 

“Such a pretty boy. I’m going to ride your cock, and I’m going to come all over you. And you’re going to take it like a good boy, aren’t you Stiles?” Those slow shifts up and down Stiles’ cock, mingled with the mortification from everything Chris said, had his hands gripping the headboard even harder.

 

“Yes, yes, I will,” Stiles promised in between breathy moans.

 

“Yes, you will, what?” Chris’ eyes gleamed sky blue in the morning light, and when he bit his lip, Stiles got with the program.

 

“Yes, sir, I’ll be your good boy.” He trembled, hips rutting up into Chris now as the other man stroked himself with one hand, and used his free hand to thumb over Stiles’ left nipple before he scratched brilliant red streaks from Stiles’ rather impressive hickey down over his chest and belly.

 

Stiles jerked up, mouth open, and Chris sped his movements. Stiles wanted to taste him, wanted his mouth around that cock, but he’d take a few drops of semen while the older man rode his dick like a fucking expert.

 

“That’s it, wide open for me,” Chris ground out, and his whole body tightened like one of his bows, curved and carved and fucking beautiful. The first few spurts hit Stiles right around his mouth and chin, while the rest spattered across his chest and belly. That salty-musky-bitter taste, plus Chris tight around him, and that was it.

 

Ecstasy poured out of him and into Chris, nearly silent whimpers all he could manage in the face of such pleasure. “Chris, sir, please.” He didn’t even know what he was asking for, emotions roiling in his chest.

 

Chris shushed him and rubbed his hands over Stiles’ chest. “It’s okay baby, let me get us cleaned up, okay?”

 

Stiles nodded, and choked off a cry when Chris lifted off of him, then removed the used condom and tossed it in the trash. He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a warm, wet cloth that helped to sooth the younger man. Another few minutes, presumably cleaning himself up, and Chris climbed back into the bed.

 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Stiles snuggled into Chris’ arms and let the man pet him.

 

“I know. You’ve had me for years now,” Stiles croaked. “Sorry, I don’t know what--”

 

“Don’t apologize. You’re not the only one who’s overwhelmed.” Soft lips pressed to his forehead and a gentle hand traced over his side.

 

“No?”

 

“No. You’re special to me. This is important to both of us. Plus, the sex was amazing.” He tickled just under Stiles’ ribs, and the younger man giggled.

 

“You speak the truth.” Stiles breathing was already evening out, his muscles warm and relaxed.

 

“I’ll always tell you the truth,” Chris promised, and buried his nose in Stiles’ hair.

 

“Ditto that, sir.”

 

“You don’t have to call me that outside of the bedroom. Hell, you don’t have to call me that inside the bedroom either, if you don’t want to.” The cheek now pressed to Stiles’ forehead warmed, and Chris sounded bashful.

 

“Good to know, but I kind of like it. I like it when you, you know, me too.” This time Stiles was feeling the embarrassment, and he ducked his head against Chris’ chest.

 

“When I ‘you know’ you? You mean when I call you my good boy?” he murmured, sexy and sweet.

 

Stiles groaned. “You’re going to kill me. The blood isn’t sure whether to go to my face or my dick.”

 

“Guess it’ll just have to split the difference. You _are_ my good boy. And I love you.” Chris whispered those words right against the skin of Stiles’ neck.

 

It warmed Stiles to his very core, and he pressed a little kiss over Chris’ heart, and as they dozed off in the morning warmth, he softly returned with, “Love you, too.”

 

\--

**Author's Note:**

> Come flail with me on [Tumblr](http://denaceleste.tumblr.com)!


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